


Touching the Heart - 点心

by AuntyA



Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternate Universe, Cooking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-14
Updated: 2016-12-28
Packaged: 2018-04-26 10:26:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5001187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuntyA/pseuds/AuntyA
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That one time Mayuri could cook.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Shinso – Dim Sum

Gin was hiding in the bathroom leaning his head against the wall of the stall with his eyes closed. He took a deep breath. What exactly was he doing here? He didn’t want to be here.

That restaurant was his baby. Shinso, his dim sum place. All the delicious things stuffed, wrapped and rolled. No grandmas yelling ‘haw gow su mei’. No carts. No greasy anything. No concessions to North American tastes. Playing off traditional Cantonese flavours all the way and using traditional ingredients even the weird bits.

Gin had spent some quality time in Hong Kong earlier in his life appreciating the crowds and the crazy. Street food and especially dim sum had caught his interest among some other aspects of HK life. He had found Cantonese cuisine uncontrolled and non-conforming compared to the Japanese food and flavours he remembered from his childhood.

Endless courses of little things, cheap and cheerful but incredibly tasty fast food. A dim sum restaurant was always full of conversations, women with expensive purses haggling over the specials with children running here and there. Some old dude always in the back alone with his newspaper. Food flew out of the kitchen. He loved it. No hushed tones in there. Fluorescent lights on. Don’t bother with any music, no-one could hear it over the sounds of chopsticks and slurping.

The dim sum experience had in a weird way appealed directly to his hatred of the confines of his family’s expectation for him. He had cast those chains off a while ago and hadn’t looked back.

Except that he was now chained up in another way. His business partner here in New York, Sousuke Aizen, his silent partner, controlled all the cash. Aizen owned him inside and out. And then he had the great investment idea to funnel illegal cash through the restaurant as a legitimate business. Fantastic.

Gin had tried to ignore Aizen, to keep him out of the kitchen and away from the actual operations of the place.

Initially he had succeeded with the distraction pretty well, but then Aizen had begun hanging around the restaurant to pounce on the front of house staff. One date with him and they’d never show up for work again.

Gin was able to keep the back of house somewhat safe by barring Aizen from the kitchen, but he had to give up on hiring female servers for a while. The staff had taken to calling the women ‘bait’ after Aizen had cannoned his way through the first and second round of hires.

And now here Gin was, going to be on tv. Humiliating. Gin sagged against the wall, his shoulder bumping the paper dispenser. When he lost this stupid competition, what would happen then? Would Aizen close the restaurant or would he just kill him?

His phone buzzed in his pocket. He took out the phone as carefully as if it was a rattlesnake. The screen showed an icon of glasses. Shit. Aizen. He couldn’t bring himself to answer it.

Gin dropped his head into his hands. Shit. There was no way he could ever pay back Aizen’s investment. He was dead. Aizen wouldn’t be satisfied with money anyway. He’d want his pound of flesh. From Gin.

The door to the bathroom opened softly, he was busted. “Gin? Are you in here?” Gin knew if only he had lifted his feet off the floor he could have stayed in here all night. The small voice continued, “Five minutes and we need you for the meet and greet in the studio kitchen area please.”

The hesitant voice was that timid PA he had first met when he arrived for the orientation. Hanatarou he thought the guy’s name was.

 “Sure thing.” He called out on his second try, not moving from the crouching brace position he had curled himself into holding his now silent phone.

“So sorry to disturb you sir. Thank you Gin. So sorry sir.” Gin could hear the polite bow from Hanatarou in his words. Then the washroom door softly clicked closed again.

Gin squeezed his eyes shut and wished fervently for a meteor to hit the tv studio to end the impending torture to come. He had no plan and it was already too late.

+++++

That little fuck Toushirou. His ramen restaurant chain, Hitsugaya, named after himself of course, was incredibly hot at the moment and he was probably cocky enough to win this. He had a number of PAs and people on the production team clustered around him, they were all chatting before the show meeting was supposed to start.

Across the room Gin clutched his champagne flute in a death grip and ground his teeth with frustration. Gin was wearing a suit, but he realized that too was a tactical error. As beautiful as his own suit tailoring, monochrome shirt and tie combo was, Toushirou was wearing hipster casual with his normal elan.

Oh well screw it, Gin could cook wearing anything really. Casual clothing looks sloppy on tv and isn’t that why they invented drycleaning?

Gin was idly interested to see that Toushirou’s beard wasn’t white to match his hair but seemed to grow in as dirty blonde stubble. And you know, he was so fucking short maybe they’d have to get him a step stool so he could reach the KitchenAid on the counter. That made for great drama. Especially when Gin might furtively stab him during prep time. That would make for good tv he was sure.

“Ichimaru, I didn't expect to see you here today.” Shit he knew that hiss from behind him. The Kuchiki. Byakuya Kuchiki. God, he could not catch a break with this stupid game show.

Gin turned to face the man with the glossy black hair and dark immaculate clothes, “Hey, Kuchiki. Who’s blessing the ingredients at your place if you’re here?” Gin smiled at him, his tight-lipped smile not reaching anywhere near his eyes.

Kuchiki just looked at him intently as if he had already lost. “Well Gin, you have a good opportunity for winning you know. Given the simplistic menu tasks we will be assigned. And certainly if you can avoid letting your own negativity get in your way this time. I am looking forward to the small challenges that you will present to me in this competition.” Kuchiki raised his glass to Gin in a little toast, gave a small bow and then turned away to the person hesitantly waiting to speak to him three paces behind.

Gin exhaled slowly. “Oh but Gin, you really find a better business partner. I’ve been hearing some things about your current major investor that sound very distasteful.” The Kuchiki had turned back to deliver a last little kick to Gin’s confidence with a thin smile.

Gin just smiled and nodded. Like he didn’t know that Aizen was a fucking criminal. He was in too deep and Aizen was part of the deal now. Thanks buddy.

Had the Kuchiki given him a compliment or an insult? Who knows, Gin couldn’t worry about it.

Fuck that guy was irritating. Kuchiki’s menuless sushi restaurant was booked solid for the next two years at least. You couldn’t get a reservation if you weren’t in the right tax bracket.

And the customer was always wrong. Byakuya only made what he felt like making. No substitutions. No-one could afford to go to Kuchiki’s restaurant more than once in a lifetime unless you were a Saudi. They didn’t eat sushi so maybe he’d go bankrupt.

Gin looked around the room desperate to see a non-threatening contestant or a friendly face.

His eye settled on the back of Mayuri Kurotsuchi’s head. He would recognize that hair anywhere. Great. Chemical molecular gastronomist or whatever he was calling himself these days. All those frankensteined foods served in his wackjob plating.

Gin had always thought of him as the coroner. The guy would easily kill you in a heartbeat to see how his food was being digested if he thought he could get away with it.

Who could even get a chance to eat his essence globules if he never deigned to open the restaurant for service? Gin just needed to stay out of his way. Mayuri would probably self-destruct in the competition because he couldn’t make beef wellington that wasn’t injected into bananas or served as ice cream in coffee or some other pseudo science nonsense.

Gin turned away quickly to avoid any eye contact with Mayuri and ran right smack into a solid warm object that wrapped its arms around him to keep him from falling. Shit. Abarai.

“Fuck Renji, let go of me.” He spoke into Renji’s chest from where Renji was holding him. Renji’s braided hair was back in a kerchief and he was wearing a collared long sleeve shirt covering most of his tattoos. Gin clawed his way out of the embrace.

“Gin! I was hoping to see you here. Are you excited? I got you on the show! Great yeah?” Renji was grinning with his big stupid face too close to him. Jesus. Those sideburns.

“Renji.” Gin tried to push him farther away without smashing his now empty glass on the giant idiot’s head. “What are you talking about. I’m only here because Aizen said so.” Gin felt like he was going to start screaming in a second. “Let me go. I need a drink.”

Again with the grinning, “I stopped by the bar and have another drink for you already right here.” Renji held up an open bottle of Veuve Clicquot in one huge hand, “Can we go talk about this somewhere else?”

+++++

“Why exactly am I in the walk in?” Gin had his arms crossed over his chest. “Although a better question is why am I in this fucking walk in fridge with you?” He was leaning back against the shelving attempting to be relaxed but he was completely tense.

Renji was sitting on some crates. He was doing that thing to Gin again just by sitting there. “That’s not what you said the last time we were alone in a walk in together. Put those same words in a different order maybe?” He leered at Gin a little and made a small moue with his mouth. Then Renji winked.

Gin’s smile got more fixed by the second.

Renji filled Gin’s glass with champagne and continued on in a more serious tone, “Well actually I’m here in this fridge with you because we have a history, my friend, and you seemed upset in there.”

Renji handed him the full glass of champagne. “I want to help you. I thought you wanted to be on the show. I thought it would be good for you to get some free publicity. You could win!”

God what was this idiocy? “Renji, what are you really doing here? Are you a contestant on this show? I didn't know you had a restaurant.”

Renji put his hand up to his forehead. That damn widow’s peak should be illegal. “No man, I’m a judge! And I was working on getting the contestants organized so I got you on the list. I totally love your dim sum.” Renji’s grin slowly widened enough to show his fangs.

Shit. Shit. Shit.  Gin swilled his champagne and handed the empty glass back to Renji for a refill. He thought he needed to be drunk for this.

+++++

Gin sat sullenly in a conference room with the other contestants for the information session. Gin knew all of them except for the one woman. She had been introduced to him as Retsu Unohana. Somehow he thought he might have met her before but not with that name. She wasn’t from NYC but then neither was he.

He checked the bio sheets on his competitors that had been handed out earlier by Hanatarou. Apparently Unohana was a beloved caterer for HK glitterati. Maybe he had met her in Hong Kong. Maybe not. She had a familiar look to her but that sleek well fed, well dressed appearance and demur manners that reeked of money could be tripping him up.

And then he considered the competitors he did already know. Byakuya had his golden holy sushi shrine. Mayuri was still churning out the bizarre, complex and profitless gastronomical chemistry. Toushirou was the face of hipster tiny ramen places taking over Park Slope like a fungus. And the five of them together were competing for a million bucks.

Meanwhile Hanatarou was trying to quietly explain to the assembled group how the show worked and the types of food that they would be asked to prepare. The discussion had rapidly sunk to a heated exchange on how the competition would flow through the episodes. They were a sad bunch. Had no-one watched the show before?

Mayuri was being impossible. He was pressing Hanatarou hard for more specific information about the competitive challenges. Byakuya also seemed very interested in getting any extra information they could shake out of the PA. Gin wouldn't have pegged Byakuya as a cheater before this little display of petulance.

Hanatarou looked like he might faint. Gin said loudly “Let’s get on to the talk about scheduling. When do we need to return to this place for the actual cooking?”

Mayuri’s head swiveled around and his eyes locked on Gin. “Ah, Ichimaru. I hadn’t noticed you here. I haven’t seen you in some time. Are you still working in food service?”

Through superhuman effort, Gin did not roll his eyes. That two weeks that he had ‘worked’ for Mayuri when he was learning to cook so long ago was the worst memory of his entire life.

Toushirou snorted. Mayuri turned to focus on him next with laser like precision. “Hitsugaya, you find me humorous?” Toushirou looked at him icily. “No Kurotschi. Frightening yes. Humorous never.”

Renji stuck his head in the room, leaning against the doorframe. “Now now people. Let’s all get along. Save some of that emotion for the challenges. It makes for great tv.”

He turned to Hanatarou, “You almost finished here? We could shoot some b-roll of them in the kitchen today if you like. Prep kitchen and the pantry.” Renji shook a fist full of aprons at them. “I have these for you. We start off with black aprons and here they are.”

Byakuya glided over first and took an apron with a pale long fingered hand, “Renji, I need to speak with you immediately.” The man sounded testy.

“Sure thing. No problem. Just give me a minute.” Renji held his hands out to offer the rest of the group aprons. After everyone had taken one, Byakuya led Renji out into the hall.  Renji’s head was bent down to hear what the smaller slighter man was saying.

Gin idly wondered if they were heading back to the walk in. Apparently the fridge was Renji’s favourite place to talk these days. Now he really did roll his eyes.

He turned and followed the rest of the crowd slowly back to the studio prep kitchen in the opposite direction.

+++++

Gin stared at the papers remaining on the table. He must have signed a hundred release forms already. Hanatarou had taken them through each one line by line. By the end of the pile even Byakuya was robotically stamping his hanko on the paper.

“Okay then. I think we are ready to let you go home. Please be back here at 7 am to get ready for shooting Day 1. Thank you for your time today.” Hanatarou said tentatively.

No-one argued with him this time, they were too busy trying to get their stuff and get the hell out of the studio.

Renji had offered him a lift on the bike, he said no. He didn’t want to start that up again. He overheard Byakuya offer Renji a ride home. Gin didn’t hear the answer.

Outside the studio Gin stood in the pool of light from the front doors, lit a cigarette and watched Byakuya and Unohana disappear into black SUVs under their drivers’ umbrellas.

Unohana’s car took off but Byakuya’s waited at the curb idling with a back window cracked. Mayuri got in an Uber cab that appeared out of nowhere, stopping with a lurch and then speeding off in a squeal of tires.

Toushirou popped his Carhartt jacket collar up, gave Gin a wave and then walked over to a fancy looking bicycle chained to a post. He unlocked and cycled off helmetless in the rain.

Seven AM gave Gin a little over four hours at home to get himself together. He’d make some lists. He’d watch some old episodes of the show on his laptop and try and think of a plan. He started walking towards the subway.

His phone buzzed. He took it out of his pocket and unthinkingly answered it without checking the caller ID. Then he heard that smooth voice on the line, “Gin, were you avoiding my calls?” His stomach dropped. Aizen.


	2. Senbonzakura – Sushi

Byakuya leaned his head back against the backseat of the SUV driving him to the studio. He had his notes in the black book. He felt ready. The challenge list had been due by 6:30 this morning.

He had sat with a cup of tea, jotting notes in his book with his fountain pen, listening to the early morning chanting of the monks in the temple below on the first floor of his East 63rd Street building. He fit together his choices for today’s taping, considering his dishes from the invisible menu at Senbonsakura.

The first challenge was going to be contestant selected dishes and choice of ingredients. He had submitted his requirements list via email already. They’d be cooking by 9 it seemed.

As the SUV sat at a red light in crosstown traffic, he mulled over his competitors.  He ticked off each one from his mental list.

He could live without knowing what that asshole Mayuri was going to prepare. Why that man wasn’t already in jail he had no idea.

Retsu he thought was a lightweight. She catered film parties. Feh. Actors don’t eat. That woman was going to be the first to go.

Toushirou was pretty restricted with his limited repertoire. Ramen was about long cooked flavourful broths. They didn’t really have that time available. Although if that kid could serve up good noodles he might be a credible threat.

Gin. Now there was a puzzle. Byakuya had known Aizen for a long time but this relationship was out of character for him, Aizen seemed quite fascinated by Gin. He had caught Gin with a restaurant financial trap that was looking quite fatal.

If the Shinso did well, Gin wouldn’t see any money from Aizen. If the Shinso closed Gin would owe Aizen an impossible amount of money. Damned if you do, damned if you don’t.

And then he considered Gin’s odd cuisine choices. Dim sum was so pedestrian. He had trained with Michelin starred chefs and was rumoured to have many strong talents. What was Gin going to do with steamed greasy seafood lumps that would be worthwhile to win?

His reverie on the upcoming competition was interrupted by the snoring next to him. Byakuya poked at Renji’s shoulder with a thin finger. The big man was slumped over dozing on the leather seat.

Renji cracked open one eye, “Hey man, that’s not very nice. Not at the studio yet are we?”

Byakuya poked him again and said firmly, “I want to win.”

“Really. You don’t say.” Renji yawned. “I also got that impression yesterday from you loud and clear in the walk in.” He opened both eyes and smiled in Byakuya’s direction.

“Like I said yesterday, I can’t just hand you the prize. I’m only one of the judges. And you don’t need the money. Let’s just see what happens.” Renji shifted on the seat, pulled his braid out from behind his back, and closing his eyes, turned his face away from Byakuya towards the SUV window.

+++++

The aprons they had on were black with a very thin white trim that actually worked. Byakuya had caught sight of Gin checking himself out earlier in the chrome doors of the fridges. Apron matched his shirt and tie. Not a bad look. A bit severe with Gin’s paleness but they were supposed to be professionals after all. Severe suited the day.

The contestants were now at their stations in the studio kitchen. It felt early. It was still dark outside.

Production had assigned five assistants to each chef to act as prep, line and sous. Yesterday they had met their team at the drinks party. Byakuya wasn’t sure that his group could keep up but he’d make do. Team assistants were wearing crossover chef coats also in black with the white trim.

Mayuri had already reduced one of his group to tears. Earlier there had been a noisy metallic crash from his area. A number of odd looking glass and metal apparatuses sat on the counter, with one retort now lying on the floor. Mayuri had a dark haired man held tightly by the hair, forcing the hapless assistant to crouch down by his knees.

All the other contestants became singularly focused on not looking anywhere near Mayuri and his horrified team.

Toushirou was sitting on the prep station counter swinging his legs, with his group gathered around him looking at laminate cards with photograph of ingredients. He had spread out some slates and mason jars on the counter next to him. They were enraptured with whatever tripe he was talking about and laughing at his ironic jokes.

Retsu Unohana was talking softly to her group and passing some celebrity magazines around the circle of her helpers.

Byakuya had sternly stressed to his own earnest helpers that there was no ‘just trying this out’ or ‘I thought that I could do this.’ Do what he said, exactly as he said or get out of the kitchen.

He began to talk about how the dishes today would be prepared to fit the criteria for his menu of UNESCO identified intangible Japanese cultural heritage. Known as Washoku, he used those principles for the one daily dinner service at Senbonzakura.

Byakuya saw Mayuri flinch and grab at his shoulder. Mayuri looked around wildly. No-one would meet his eyes. Then he brushed at his hair, getting madder. He stared irritatedly at Retsu, the contestant with the station closest to his.

Byakuya stifled a smile. He had caught out of the corner of his eye what he thought was Gin flicking something tiny, lentils perhaps, at the back of Mayuri’s head.

Gin had been standing with his group crowded closely around his prep station, talking animatedly and showing them a set of cleavers, different sized steamers, a wok and some rolling pins. Smart. Excellent use of the time without ingredients spent going over the equipment.

He heard Hanatarou ask quietly for their attention. The first round was getting ready to start.

+++++

Renji was standing behind the cameraman waiting for his cue to start the segment to introduce the judging team and the contestants.

Standing with Renji was a thin blonde dour looking man dressed in an interesting dark suit. Byakuya recognized him. He was Izuru Kira, a long time restaurant reviewer for the New York Times.

The two men were also accompanied by a small intense woman introduced to the group earlier as Soi-Fong, dressed in modern angled clothes and with severe hair. She was apparently a very popular food stylist for a cable tv cooking channel.

Byakuya was confident that Kira and Soi-Fong had no direct ties to any other contestants, although Kira and Gin had exchanged a number of oddly timed glances that seemed laden with something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Soi-Fong seemed testy with everyone but didn’t appear to have any close connections with any of them.

It did look like Renji was the weakest link for him to put pressure on to grant him extra points. He’d work on that over the next week.

The kitchen production manager had the contestant teams begin to do prep according to the set menu with only the ingredients they had asked for in advance. Renji had called the teams together and started the clock for the cameras and then he walked away to tape some discussions with his fellow judges.

Byakuya got caught up in the motions of making his kitchen team work swiftly. He didn’t have time to spend a lot of time gawking at his competitors.

Washoku called for fresh ingredients allowing for natural flavours. He had his group working on rice prep, seafood and vegetable. He had his grill set up and he was making the grilled meats himself to make sure they were done properly.

Washoku involved natural beauty. Renji strode out to the platform in front of the camera and began taping his introduction remarks about the contest. He was wearing a juvenile looking grey hooded sweatshirt with ‘sorry not sorry’ written on the back in large white letters. He was distracting Byakuya from the meal preparations. Byakuya turned away from the side of the room so he could concentrate on his task of counting out the tasteful lacquerware serving dish sets he had delivered with the ingredients that morning.

Washoku’s focus on healthy eating meant minimal use of animal fats. That crass Cantonese food of Gin’s was fried and dripping full of pork fat, beef tallow, and god knows what else, probably chicken fat. None of that was to be found in his food’s delicate ethereal flavours.

Grilled sumibiyaki. Lovingly barbequed beef strips with fragrant jasmine rice and a fried egg.  He angrily tossed a number of fried egg attempts a prep assistant made that showed too much brown at the edges. “Redo.” He said tightly.

Kaisen donburi. Straight cut fatty raw salmon with genmai brown rice beautifully arranged in a pyramid at the bottom of the bowl. Lovely. He thanked the assistant who had managed it and then realized there was only one bowl prepared. He growled. “The rest of the servings please sir.” His assistant took a step back with a look of horror and began feverishly assembling the ingredients for the remaining seven bowls.

Soi-Fong and the camera came by to talk to him about his plates. “So Byakuya, tell us a little about your plates and this intangible Japanese cultural heritage meal that you will be making for us in today’s challenge.” She looked at him expectantly with an eyebrow arched.

He refrained from snarling at her. “Why yes the UNESCO heritage designation is certainly a high standard to meet.” He trailed off, compressing his lips, looking pointedly at the clock timer and then directly at her. He then managed to elbow the cameraman directly in the ribs, hard. She fled.

He turned back to his station. Ties to social customs had to be present in his selections as well. He had picked a New Year salad with dried persimmon. That last ingredient had made him smile a little but now was not entirely the time for amusement.

He had one of his team painstakingly slicing daikon and carrot into julienned sticks for the tangy, sour and sweet salad. He glanced over the piles of prepared vegetables. His eyes narrowed. “Not correct.” His chef knife came down like a sword blade on the pile and swept the rejected slices off the board.

His prep assistant sagged and began to apologize. “No talking.” He pushed the remaining daikon and carrots over to the woman. “Start again.”

Suddenly Hanataro was calling the time for twenty minutes remaining in the challenge. Byakuya looked up.  He was doing fine. He spared a moment to look over the room.

Toushiro was stuffing something disgusting and brown looking into mason jars. His prep team was plating something else unappetizing onto stone pieces.

Retsu had some fried dough objects, small meat patties and some skewered meat balls and seafood on sticks arranged on a tiered stand and a silver tray.

Mayuri was doing something with what looked like a bicycle pump over a large glass stemless wineglass. One of his prep team had a bloody bandage over their eye. He was missing two members of his team entirely.

Byakuya didn’t have a very good view from where he was but Gin’s team looked like they were handling stacked up bamboo steamers and small iron pots with wooden lids, placing them on trays. His presentation actually looked interesting. We will see, he thought. What is in those containers is what matters. They’d all find out soon when they got to taste each other’s dishes.

+++++

Byakuya was staring in the mirror at his face. Staring at his chin in fact. Whatever Mayuri had served them, the iced petrified samosa essence cubes and pastaless saffron tagliatelle or whatever the hell substance was in that petri dish had given him a hive. On his chin.

Unbelievable. That was an instant fail. But he was the only one to have a bad reaction. Incredibly typical of Mayuri to be able to pinpoint an attack on an opponent so precisely.

To Byakuya’s chagrin Mayuri was not instantly expelled. The producers must be keeping him on for the drama. His prep team had refused to return after the judging and poor nervous Hanataro was working on quickly finding another set from Craigslist right now.

He turned away from the mirror and looked at Toushirou who was sitting in the studio lounge with him. “I’m sorry you were eliminated in the first round Hitsugaya.” He said insincerely.

Toushirou nodded, his white bangs falling over his forehead. “Shit happens.” He looked down at his hands. “I thought I did okay but the bone broth really does need two days to simmer for the flavour.”

“Of course I’m sure that was it.” Byakuya nodded, thinking to himself that the ramen sludge he had to taste in that idiotic mason jar was something he personally would regret for a while. “You are aware that I will be collecting my five hundred from you now. Your little bet on who would be the first to exit the competition was lost.”

Toushirou brushed his bangs off his forehead again, “Yeah sure, that’s cool.” He stood up and got out his wallet on a chain. He handed over the bills.

Byakuya arched his eyebrow and smoothed out the bills before tucking them in his pocket.

“You going to be okay Kuchiki? I don’t think Soi-Fong really likes your approach. She complained that it was fussy earnest food and didn’t she say something was lacking? That you used gari instead of myouga and she could taste the difference in the ginger flavour I think.”

Byakuya couldn’t tell if Toushirou was being serious. “I’m in control of my seasonings thank you Hitsugaya.”

“But no-one could have predicted Retsu would make it into the next round, how could any judge like that wedding menu shit?” Toushiro was getting warmed up on this topic.

“Kira seemed to like the tiny lamb burgers.”

“He’s a douchebag. Izuru hated my restaurant only after I expanded. He loved it when it was just a tiny storefront in J-Town in Queens. Everyone knows what he looks like, how can he even review anything here without getting special service?” Toushirou was breathing through his nose.

“He has never reviewed Senbonzakura.” Byakuya was gloating just a little.

“The New York Times can’t afford to send him to your place. Anyway. I’m done here. Enjoy yourself Kuchiki. Beat that fucking caterer for me in the next round.“ Toushirou put on his jacket.

He added with a deadpan expression, “Watch out for Gin though. His food was fucking fantastic. You know he dated Renji not too long ago too right? Hope that won’t be a problem for you.” And then he smiled icily and turned away to leave the studio lounge.

Byakuya hissed more than said, “Since we must discuss this now, it is not a problem, in fact it is no problem at all. Renji and I are not currently involved.”

Toushirou nodded and smiled at him oh so insincerely as he was going out the door, “Oh yeah. Right.”


	3. Shatter

Gin was sitting cross-legged on a flower planter in front of the tv studio. He had a cigarette in one hand and a can of coffee in the other. A tall well-built guy with a dark pompadour was sitting on a Vespa scooter in the road by the curb. The guy was wearing dark retro sunglasses, his black half-shell helmet hanging by a strap off the handlebars.

Holding his jacket out from his body he patted his waist with both hands. He had a knitted band under his jacket. He drawled out, “I got a girl making these for me. They are fantastic. Keeps your core super warm. I figure I can sell them to the yoga mat flat white crowd out of that vacant space right by Shinso. I can get a popup lease I think. I know the landlord.”

Gin rolled his eyes behind his long bangs. “Go on.”

“So okay. You’re right.  Seriously Gin. Like I said. Even if you win this thing, that still isn't enough cash to buy out Aizen. Why did you sign his contract anyway? I told you not to. And that was me speaking as your lawyer.”

“Iba, just give me what you came here to deliver. I don’t need the lecture. What’s done is done.” Gin said tersely.

Iba sighed and looked away from Gin. He reached down and retrieved a heavy letter sized envelope from the briefcase between his feet. Gin put his smoke in his mouth and reached out his hand for the envelope from Iba.

Gin shrugged, “I had to. I needed this.”  He slid the envelope into his suit jacket.

“But you don’t need what’s happening now. You need a stronger champion. You need someone richer. Someone meaner. Someone to take care of the mess.” Iba looked at him over the top of his sunglasses. “You really think you going to win the show? Isn't it Aizen's money behind this whole thing anyway?”

“Maybe?”

Iba snorted, “Does Aizen want you to win? Who’s judging? Anyone he owns? Or owes?”

“Renji for one. Some tough girl named Soi-Fong and then they have Kira.”

“Kira Izuru and Renji Abarai? You got this one!” Iba was excited.  He punched the air with one hand.

Then he stopped abruptly and pointedly looked out at the traffic. Toushirou had opened the studio door and was walking over to Gin. “Hey man.” He nodded at Gin and Iba.

Gin turned and looked at him silently, smiling insincerely. Iba looked back at Toushirou.

“Tough break on losing that round.” Gin didn’t stop smiling.

“Yeah whatever. About that bet we had though. You lost on who would be the first to get kicked out. You gonna pay up now before I head out?” Toushirou tossed his white bangs over to the side and pulled on a woolen beanie from his coat.

Gin nodded, “Sure thing Whitey.” He fished around in his suit coat pocket for a thin leather wallet. “That was kind of shitty that you got kicked out already.”

Gin counted out five hundred dollars slowly and handed it over to Toushirou. He said somewhat wryly, “That’s going to teach me to gamble with you. That caterer gave you a surprising run for it. I thought for sure she was going to go first.”

He stopped with the cash still in his hand above Toushirou’s palm, “In all seriousness, did you throw the contest? That ramen was terrible. Tasted like 69 cent instant noodles.”

Toushiro just grabbed the cash from Gin's hand and tucked it into his wallet on a chain. “My heart just wasn’t in it I guess." He spat out, "Shiro.”

Iba sucked in a breath and looked back and forth between them.  “Shit it got cold out here. Gin, I gotta go. Can you please call me if you need to come over later? Let me know where you’re going to be.” He tucked his helmet on over his hair and adjusted his sunglasses. “Good luck on the challenges man. Nice to meet you hipster.”  With that he sped off on the scooter into traffic on East 19th heading towards 3rd.

“Friend of yours?” Toushirou nodded after Iba’s vanishing figure.

“Hmm? Yes. Known him forever.” Gin took a drag on his smoke and studied Toushirou behind his bangs.

“What did you need your lawyer for today?” Toushirou tilted his head and studied Gin. He scratched at his scruffy beard with one hand.

Gin ignored him and took a sip from his can of coffee.

Toushirou asked another question in his low voice, “Byakuya? You know him too?”

“Doesn’t everyone? How can you cook in New York and not know him?” Gin unfolded his legs and stood up. He fussed with his pant legs, adjusting the crease. He said irritatedly, “Did Aizen threaten you Whitey? Threaten your restaurant?”

“Maybe.” Toushirou turned the iciest blue eyes on Gin he had ever seen. “Not an issue anymore for me now. I’m out of the contest. If anything happens to my restaurant I’ll kill you though.”

“Fuck off. You don't know anything about me Whitey.” Gin turned his back on Toushirou, collected his coffee can and started to walk back to the studio doors. He flicked his cigarette back into the street.  He was done here.

He didn’t turn around, “Fucking nosy hipster. I thought you were maybe interesting before, but now you're just a creepy kid.” Gin opened the door to the studio and left Toushirou standing on the sidewalk.

Toushirou paused. Holding himself stiffly he zipped up his jacket and walked off towards the bike rack where his bike was chained up. He muttered to himself, "Here we go again, old men and their stupid arguments. Such a fucking pain.”

+++++

They had wrapped up the rest of the actual shooting for the day. Renji had the remaining four chefs work through some establishing shots in the pantry and in the studio kitchen. They did some individual interviews for reactions video for some of the manufactured drama from earlier.

Renji led them through their cameos during the competition and showed them some rushes of the food production, both theirs and the other competitors. Something he saw in those images had caught at the edge of Gin's memory but he couldn't quite put his finger on what it was.

The crew had recreated the pool of muck that was Toushirou's congealed ramen slates and Soi-Fing spent a lot of time fussing over the shine of the spill readjusting the lighting and working with qtips to create her vision in the gunge.

Renji had earlier decided not to individually mic the chefs during the taping given what the sound guy discovered Mayuri was saying under his breath to his new team. Byakuya cornered Gin by the wall ovens once he was sure no-one could overhear. "So. Ichimaru. You are still in this."

Gin just smiled at him, his eyes half hidden behind his bangs.

"I need you to get rid of the caterer. I will deal with Kurotschi myself."

"I'm not an assassin so you'll have to be more specific. You mean to break her legs or push her into traffic?" Gin continued smiling.

"Fool. You are aware of what I mean. Crush her with your fried seafood rolled foods. She needs to go. Immediately." Byakuya compressed his lips into the tightest line Gin had ever seen.

"You saying you want to take me into the final two? Or whatever they say in these stupid gameshows? What did Mayuri do to you this time?" Gin teased, half heartedly wiping down the stainless steel counter in front of him with a cloth.

"I do not want to look at Kurotschi any longer in this context."

Gin studied Byakuya a bit more closely. "Okay. Okay. I'll see what I can do. I'm just a chef."

Byakuya studied him in turn. "That I highly doubt is a full description of your abilities if Abarai is to be believed."

Gin smiled for real now. "I see." He said archly. And then he laughed, a short sharp sound almost a bark.

A camera turned to catch the scene. Both Gin and Byakuya turned immediately and headed off in different directions. Gin wiping his hands on his apron. Byakuya gliding ramrod straight over to his station to recount something that didn't require counting.

+++++

Gin was tired when they left the studio after the filming was over. His only thought at the moment was his shitty apartment and his couch. He left in a small crowd of PAs and kitchen helpers heading home.

The studio glass door swung shut behind him as he stopped on the sidewalk to answer his buzzing phone. He pulled the phone from his suit jacket pocket. Shit glasses. He rejected the call.

"Gin." That voice. His head snapped up. Aizen was standing in the open door of a black livery car parked at the curb. "You are avoiding my calls."

He nodded at Gin's phone with the glasses icon glowing in the dark. "I had laser surgery last year. You know I don't wear glasses any longer my friend."

Gin stopped and waited, head slightly down. Aizen's driver came around the hood of the car and stood by the front tire on their side. He was working his teeth with a toothpick. Jacket open, holster visible. Gin hadn't seen this particular guy accompanying Aizen before.

"Gin, what's going on? I thought you would be happy to see me after your playdate with your cooking friends today." Aizen took a step closer to where Gin was standing. "I hear Toushirou lost the first round." He had a little smile as he looked at Gin. “I've never tried his ramen but I was surprised he was the first to go. I've heard he has a wonderful woman working for him. Momo I think her name is. I wouldn't mind getting to know her."

Gin stood very still. "Did you need something from me now Aizen? I was hoping to get a cab and go home for a bit before I have to come back for tomorrow's taping."

"Did Iba stop by today?" Aizen was holding his palms up to Gin.

"No. I was in the studio all day. Our phones are locked in an office during taping I only got it back about 10 minutes ago. He didn't call either." He breathed through his nose lightly.

"Tsk tsk Gin." Aizen grasped Gin's tie and pulled him towards him a little tenderly. Then he slammed Gin's head on the roof of the car hard. Gin tried not to make a sound, but he thought he might have. Aizen leaned in very closely and spoke softly Gin's ear. "Win or lose it doesn't matter to me. Just never lie to me."

He pulled again firmly on Gin's tie and lifted his other hand to stroke Gin's pale hair, head pressed to the hard car roof. "Never." He jerked the tie again. "Lie. To me." The awkward posture he was in oddly struck Gin as weirdly amusing, a sick take on some romantic gesture. His phone dropped from his hand and fell in the street.

Aizen continued patting his hair, "Fear is necessary for evolution. The fear that one could be destroyed at any moment. Thank you, Gin.” Gin closed his eyes.

“Do you see that man across the street? Gin?" The velvet voice. "Gin. Open your eyes please.” Harsh tug on the tie. Gin did open his eyes. Across the street an older latino guy sitting on an e-bike, grinned toothlessly and raised a tallboy in their direction.

“Alvero said you did meet Iba. Right here in fact. On the sidewalk. Right here.” Tug on the tie. Pat on the hair. Hand smoothing down the side of Gin’s face. Gin shuddered.

“Would you like to change your answer Gin?” Aizen looked down at him. And slapped him hard. Then nodding to the big guy, threw Gin at him. Dusting off his hands theatrically, Aizen got in the back of the car and shut the door.

The big guy flicked his toothpick into the planter and grabbed Gin. “Let’s go Shiro. I’m looking forward to this.” He punched Gin in the stomach hard without any warning.

+++++

Gin stood in front of his building listing a little to the left. He was holding a paper napkin to his nose. The bleeding had pretty much stopped now. He sighed and started to look for his keys. His guts were killing.

A tall shadow peeled itself out of the 'Lisa' bodega's doorway across the street and walked over to where he was searching his pockets. Fuck it was Renji.

“Can I have a word Gin?” Big warm hand on his back. Crap. He folded and fell on his hands and knees retching onto the sidewalk. “Let’s go friend. Give me your keys please.” Renji picked him up and he steadied himself on his feet before they headed into the building.

Gin staggered up the first two flights without too many problems.

“Tell me again why you have this shitty walk up apartment again?” Renji was trying to squeeze past a motorbike in the hallway. “How did someone get a bike all the way up here anyway?”

Gin ignored him focusing instead on putting one foot in front of another up one more flight. Renji said, “So what happened? Bruises make for shitty television.”

Gin paused in front of his apartment door. A worn number three hung on the door. “How is this apartment number three? You live on the goddamn fourth floor.” Renji sounded a little winded.

“The number one fell off before I even moved in here. And my bruises are hidden. Don't worry about your precious tv show. What do you even want?” Renji stuck his key in the lock and Gin let his head hit the wall waiting for the door to open.

Renji sounded apologetic, “Sorry man. I didn't go out the front when I left the studio.  The security guard only called me about it after it was all over. Asshole watched it on the video. Did nothing.”

Gin shouldered the door open and Renji followed him into the apartment and closed the door behind him. Well, one could loosely call it an apartment. Rather a large-ish room with a tiny bathroom.

Gin pitched face first onto the couch, arm trailing on the floor. He could hear his downstairs neighbour’s tv through the floor. He slid his phone out of his pocket and held it up to his face. Smashed glass but it seem to be working. He left it on the floor. "You sleep on the couch. Che there really is no money in owning a restaurant." Renji said.

He moved a large plastic tool case off a chair and put it on the floor. Renji opened the case and whistled. “Shit man. That’s a lot of cash.” He closed the lid with a soft click. "Let me revise that, there is no money working your ass off in your restaurant with a partner like Aizen."

Gin shut his eyes. “Aizen has me doing a few little things for him. Nothing too important.”

“You got anything to eat in this place?” Renji was looking in the ancient fridge. Then the freezer. Gin could hear the doors open and shut. “Seriously? You eat these things? You call yourself a chef and your freezer is full of this?” Renji sounded like he was trying not to laugh.

“Either eat it or put it back in the freezer.” Gin rolled over on his side and sat up. “It takes 4 minutes on high.” He ran his hand through his hair. God he felt like shit. When did this day even start.

Renji had tossed the frozen Lean Cuisine lasagne into the microwave. “You have any forks? Chopsticks? A spoon? Anything I can use to eat this cardboard? Oh hey, canned coffee!” Renji was rustling around in the cupboard.

Gin waved a hand vaguely at the tiny kitchen counter. A hand appeared with a bottle of vodka in front of him. Gin grasped the bottle from Renji and took a swig. Then he sucked in air through his gritted teeth. “That will do fine.” He took another drink, breathed out in a rush then put the bottle down on the floor. “Helpful.”

He got up with a groan and headed to the bathroom to clean up and change his shirt. Renji called after him, “Hey Gin? We have some things to discuss about tomorrow’s cooking challenge and your very shit luck these days.”


	4. Zabimaru

Gin felt like dying when he woke up face down on his couch. Everything hurt but there didn’t seem to be any new blood. His nose wasn’t broken but his head was pounding. He gingerly combed his fingers through his hair looking for anything he might have missed.

One of his eyes seemed bad, having a problem staying open. He’d have to see in the mirror but given how he much like shit he felt, he wasn’t in a rush to check that out.

Then he lifted his shirt and touched his stomach very carefully. He was still feeling the beating from yesterday. He hauled up his shirt farther to look at the bruising more closely.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Renji sitting on the floor in the weak morning light playing a fruit game or something on his phone. Leaning against the chair, his hair was loose and looked like a wet cascade of red. He was wearing the same clothes from yesterday.

God Renji. “What are you still doing here? Don’t you have somewhere else to be with that tv show. Shit your clingy rich boyfriend is going to kill me.”

Gin was completely awake now. He continued. “And why is your hair wet? Did you have a shower?”

Renji ignored his outburst without actually answering him, “It’s still early. Iba came by and picked up the cash already. You didn’t wake up. Can’t believe you make him do all those stairs on a regular basis.”

He didn’t bother to look up at Gin. “We have a bit of time. I can call for a pickup and we’ll still make it to the studio on time.”

Gin grimaced and got up to go to the bathroom, kicking the empty vodka bottle under the couch. Maybe he could just lock himself in and get a little privacy for once. He ran his fingers through his hair. “Iba. Shit. “ He thought about that for a moment. “Anyway. I thought we were finished with our discussions. But you’re still here.”

“I haven’t seen you in three years Gin. I couldn’t leave you alone yesterday. I had to make sure you would maybe live to be on my tv show today. I have a guest judge coming.” Renji looked up at him earnestly. “At least your face doesn’t look too bad. Can you keep the black eye off camera? My makeup gal is good but I’m not sure she’s that good.”

Gin growled at him and kept walking. “You better not have used all my soap.”

Gin could hear the smile in Renji’s voice behind him. “I used up all your soap.”

“Shit!” Gin slammed the door to the bathroom.

Renji uncurled from the floor and stretched, arms up. He started to find his hoodie and shoes, listening to Gin slam things around in the bathroom. Renji shouted at the bathroom door, “Well if you have enough energy to be that pissed off then it means you aren't hurt that bad.” Muffled cursing came from behind the closed door and something heavy was thrown at the wall.

When Gin came out of the bathroom in a cloud of steam he was just dressed just in pants with bare feet. He looked paler even than normal with wet hair and his torso smudged all the way around with dark bruising. He had left his crumpled bloodstained shirt on the bathroom floor.

Renji was standing in front of the window looking down at the street. He had put on his dopey looking hoodie from an anime store with one white arm and one black arm, a blue water pattern around the bottom.

He had his phone in his hand, “I called for a pickup but I think someone else wants to give you a lift.” Renji pointed at the street.

 Gin sighed and dropped his head. “Shit no way. Aizen? I’m very dead.”

“Nope. Actually it’s Byakuya. Want me to cancel the studio car?” Renji waved his phone at Gin. “I have to tell him now if you want the ride or he’ll leave us here.”

“Do it. I need to find a clean shirt and some socks. Damn he is pushy. Just like you.”

Renji looked up from texting the studio car. “Will you at least go see a doctor after the show is over? Those look pretty bad.” Renji pointed at Gin’s bruised torso.

“No.” Gin pulled on a long sleeved shirt and started to button it up, his hands shaking a bit, the buttons felt tiny.

He bit back a response of ‘what do you care?’ He was starting to sound to his own ears like a lovesick teenager. Was he still crushing on Renji after all this time?

“You’re buttoning your shirt wrong man. Relax. Please.” Renji was holding his hands out. “There’s no rush.”

Gin got himself into his suit jacket somehow. At least he had remembered to hang it over the back of the chair before he passed out so it wasn’t wrinkled.

Now he was having a hard time raising his arms. Aizen’s guy had worked him over pretty good. “We still have the kitchen team today right? I need the helpers if I’m going to place today.” He winced as his muscled all twinged.

Renji nodded at him, “Yeah I can't really answer that. I think the challenge today is without them. You good to go then?”

He turned back to the window and called down to the car on the street, “Yeah hi babe. Okay. He’s coming. Or maybe not and just wait a bit. I’m not sure that’s such a great idea right now.”

Gin dimly heard Renji on the phone as he concentrated on finding his food notes and other shoe.

“Hey before I go babe. You see that guy in front of the bodega? That’s the little store. Right there. Sign says Lisa. Across from you. You see a cartoon of a fox on the awning? Yes that little store.”

Renji sighed. “No. See that guy there? Yes. Him. Send your driver over there with cash and tell the guy to get lost. Yes. He’ll need to be paid. With cash.“

Renji flipped his hair back from his face and looked across at Gin. “Okay. We’re leaving now. Sure.”

He hung up and said to Gin, “Gonna try to avoid a repeat of yesterday for you with Aizen.”

Gin grabbed his shattered phone, keys and wallet, cigarettes, lighter and then took one last look in the kitchen. “Shit you did drink my last can of coffee. Renji you fuck!”

Renji shook his head with a smile, “Sorry man. We’ll get you something on the way. The cupboard is bare my friend.” He held the door open. “Out you go Gin.”

+++++

Gin sat stiffly in the livery car on the way to the studio. This was much more uncomfortable that he had thought it would be.

Sitting across from him, Byakuya was staring. Looking down a thin nose at him with a pissy look on his face. Gin felt like his headache was going to crack his head right open.

Renji had been talking earnestly about after the taping that Gin should try and disengage from Aizen and get a new backer for Shinso or try opening a new restaurant.

But it was distracting. Renji was sitting right up against Byakuya’s side, long arm along the back of the seat behind Byakuya’s head. Gin kept looking out the window hoping vainly that Renji didn't have one of his hands on Byakuya’s thigh. Fuck. His head was pounding. It had been a mistake to take this ride.

What was that giant idiot trying to say? Walk away from Shinso? That his loaded new boyfriend was going to pay for a new restaurant for Gin?

Gin just squinted his eyes almost closed and kept on smiling, nodding occasionally. He felt ill, and his back was killing. “Renji, you promised coffee.” He finally croaked out when he couldn’t take it anymore.

“Hey sure man, there’s a Starbucks just past this Duane Reade. Driver?” Renji leaned forward to get the driver’s attention.

Shit they were holding hands. Gin felt like a fourth grader. Ugh love cooties. Fuck.

His phone vibrated. He checked it warily then answered it fast, turning his head to the window. “Hey Rangiku! I missed you yesterday.”

The car stopped. The driver got out and opened Renji’s door. Renji got out and then leaned back in asking Gin, “What are you having? Americano?”

Gin looked up and nodded. He didn’t care what Renji was babbling about, he’d have done anything just to get out of the car right now. He was feeling clammy and chilled.

 The driver outside had moved to the front of the car. This was all feeling very familiar and unfortunate. He was alone in the car with the Kuchiki.

Byakuya leaned forward. “When you are finished with your call I would like to have a word with you alone.” Byakuya tapped Gin’s knee, “Before Renji returns with the coffee.” Implied threat received loud and clear princess.

“Sure, sure.” Gin looked helplessly out the window to watch Renji lope off to the coffee place.

“Rangiku. Hey. Rangiku. I have to go. I’m with some people from the show. Driving over there now. So tell Iba to mind his own business. No. I’m fine. Cooking today and then a break for a day.” His hands were shaking.

He flicked his bangs back over his black eye and closed both of them.  “No. Nothing happened yesterday night. Hitsugaya got kicked out. Call him and find out yourself.”

“Okay. Whatever.” God she talked and talked. “Yes calling later. Bye Rangiku.”

He disconnected. And waited with his phone in his lap. Breathing slowly through his nose. The car smelled vaguely like sweet almonds. He knew it wasn’t his soap on Renji. It was pleasant but didn’t seem to be a scent on its own. It just lightly permeated the space. He opened his eyes.

Byakuya was looking at him thoughtfully with hard grey eyes like flint chips. “I think you are in over your head Ichimaru.”

“Really. You think so?” Gin sat very still. “You can’t threaten me. I already have nothing left of any worth to anyone.”

“I’m not threatening you Ichimaru.” Byakuya tapped his finger on the soft leather upholstery of the seat.

Gin sat motionless. “I’m listening.” He could feel his heart beating fast, his pulse fluttering. He hoped his anxiety wasn’t obvious on his face.

The deep voice continued. “Let’s get through the competition while I think about the solution to your problem. You were going to get rid of the caterer.”

“Are you offering to get rid of my problem for me? My problem’s name is Aizen.” Gin had decided to force the issue. He hated having this type of conversation, just going around and around the actual issue at hand.

“Perhaps. Perhaps yes.” Byakuya looked out the car window and then back to Gin’s face.

Gin sucked his teeth slightly and then exhaled. He hadn’t entirely realized that he was holding his breath. “That would be. Surprising.” He managed to get out.

“I have some need of your special talents.”

Oh here we go. Same fucking story as the last time. “Can I just remind you of something? I am a chef now. I have a dim sum restaurant and I cook food for a living.” Gin looked down at his broken phone screen and his scarred and bruised hands.

Byakuya leaned forward slightly, “I think that more can be expected of you in addition to those simple talents.”

Gin just looked back at him. A knot was developing in his sore stomach.

“And do you Ichimaru want your problem solved?” Byakuya took his turn at sitting and watching.

Gin smiled bitterly. “What do you think Kuchiki? Do I look like all my dreams have come true?”

“I cannot be the judge of the ranking or schedule of your dreams. I can only assist you perhaps in removing obstacles but it will not be for free.”

Gin snapped, “And you look like you will continue to remind me endlessly that it will cost me. Jesus Christ.” Gin was getting huffy. “Look. Yes. I move money and sometimes other things through Shinso and my other networks right now but that doesn’t mean I want to keep on doing that forever. If Aizen gets shut down I lose everything through RICO anyway.”

“If you get shut down you go to prison do you not?” Byakuya looked at him curiously.

“Actually I’d leave. It would hard for them manage to extradite from Hong Kong. But I want to stay here. For the last time, I am a chef with a dim sum restaurant.”

“Hong Kong. Not Kyoto?”

“Oh fuck that. There isn’t anything there for me and you apparently know it. Stay out of my private life. I’m trying very hard to stay out of yours.” Gin was fed up with this discussion. Meddling rich fuck. “I’m not getting busted and I’m not leaving New York.”

So he gritted out, “Yes I need my problem solved. Yes, I guess, Kuchiki, you are my only hope to do this.”

Byakuya looked quite satisfied. “Granted. I will consider how my assistance can be of the most use for your little problem.” He held out a slender gloved hand. “You will take care of the caterer, yes?”

He shook hands awkwardly with Byakuya, who surprised him with a firm handshake. Gin smiled wryly, as always, he expected he would lose something valuable to make something positive happen. “Sure. Of course. I’ll see what I can do today to completely crush her.”

Byakuya asked almost as an afterthought, “Why does Aizen punish you physically? What drives him to hurt his employees?”

Gin thought about telling him to fuck off and then just get out of the car but instead turned his head back to the window. He couldn’t meet Byakuya’s eye. He answered flatly, “I’m not an employee. It is, uh, sort of a domestic situation.” He kept his eyes firmly on the floor of the car.

Byakuya said nothing.

With his regular shitty unbelievable timing, Renji got back in the car with the coffees. “Hey, here's the London Fog, your Americano and this Valencia one is mine. You guys finished talking?” Gin took a breath and took the cup.

While the driver got back in the car, Gin turned to Renji, desperate to avoid looking at Byakuya. Renji’s coffee smelled like oranges and chocolate. Gin tried to concentrate.

He asked, “What exactly is your connection to this show Renji? You the producer or something? You work for a TV channel now?”

“Nah. I’m helping out with this cooking show as a judge and because I could get all the contestants and judges to commit. I’m in manufacturing. You know those instant noodles, instant yakisoba? I invented the packaging for that. All the companies use the same stuff. The designers even used my tattoos in the logos printed on the bottom of every tray, bowl and cup. So much fun.”

Gin just stared at him. “That paper lid with the drain holes? That was you?” He took a sip of his coffee. The Americano was scalding hot and very strong. He felt his brain begin to snap back into focus.

“Yeah. I was going to sell it to one guy but then I just started my own company so we do packaging for everything instant. Ramen, udon, soba, instant drinks, the sauces in the little foil envelopes. My company is called Zabimaru. We have contracts to do all sorts of Japanese food packaging. One plant Hebi is in New Jersey, the other Saru is over in Japan. Easiest job I ever had.” He sipped his coffee drink.

“Instant noodles is huge internationally. Absolutely huge.” He grinned at Gin. “That’s why I look relaxed all the time.”

Gin was actually speechless. A lot had happened since he had known Renji whenever that was. And he had missed it all. Apparently he’s the rich fuck not the princess. Shit. Why hadn’t Rangiku told him this?

Byakuya was sipping his milky tea and looking out the window of the car, studiously ignoring them both.

Renji half-frowned, “Oh and I talked to Hanatarou while I was in line inside. I don’t think either of you are going to like what’s happening today. No kitchen helpers and it’s a three course wedding dinner. Some of the food will be prepped in advance but you’re doing all the actual cooking of a set menu for actual wedding guests.”

Byakuya and Gin both glared at Renji, scowling behind their cups. The car slowed to a stop. The driver spoke for the first time. “Sirs? We’re here at the studio.”


	5. Wabisuke

When Gin was prepping he didn't have to think of anything else. Chop chop.Tossing things into boiling water. Fucking with Retsu's equipment. Staging the prep so the production would be easy later when service would be starting. Although he hated catering large events the pace this time was good. He didn't even feel the bruises on his ribs so much anymore.

He had lost track of what Byakuya was working on menuwise. He didn't really care. A sports-themed wedding. He couldn't think of anything worse.

Hanataro had taken them through the projected timing for the day's shooting schedule, what food prep would be considered acceptable for a helper to work on and what wouldn't. Gin figured he was screwed but it wasn't anything new he hadn't already experienced in 30 years of the restaurant business.

Gin was working on directing the kitchen assistants he had for the short time he had them available. Matchsticking zucchini and pressing the moisture out. Chipping sweet potatoes for frites. Red peppers. Prepping the pork. Zesting lemons and slicing persimmons for the sherbet. Rinsing rice. Making stacks of paper cones.

Basic boring stuff. His group was good, they had all cooked with him that first day. He didn't know where Hanataro had gotten them from. Craiglist he guessed.

And each one had that slightly desperate edge, like this show would seal their future success. Yeah no. One of the women had tears streaming down her face as she sliced enough onions for 75 people. He'd partially saute them now with the helpers and just finish it off later.

He was proofing the dough for the papos secos buns himself. He had decided on a pork sandwich, but not pulled, he hated that nasty sweet sauce. More by way of Portugal with a bifana and less via North Carolina.

Gin wasn’t impressed with Retsu’s knife skills. Surprisingly she seemed a little overwhelmed with the task to prepare three courses for 75 people. Of course that it was for a sport themed wedding didn’t really help.

Each contestant was responsible for 75 people. The total wedding party was 300 people. The celebrities were apparently part of a volleyball team he had never heard of. They didn’t need a free wedding, he wondered what hold Renji had over them to get their participation.

He was going with the easy choice of zucchini and sweet potato frites in a paper cone for his vegetable. He had a dim memory of Iba’s niece enjoying sweet potato fries with that ubiquitous chipotle mayo in some bar they had been drinking that one time he was babysitting. He had also selected a bottled beer to serve from Brooklyn that he had tried on Iba’s recommendation at that same epic babysitting event.

He looked around. He needed to get more in Retsu’s business. He knew he could be furtive and sneaky from long years of practice.

Unseen, he had turned off the flame three times under her water so her pasta was ruined. He moved her frozen dessert trays in the freezer so that the fish sauce he had defrosted would drip and congeal in it.

He flipped her tiny hot dogs right into the garbage and walked away. He ran her knives on the floor before prep. She was going to lose.

The time had passed quickly and suddenly Hanatarou had counted down the time for the kitchen prep team to be dismissed.

Gin thought his group had done a good job, although it did look like Retsu had organized hers like an army battalion and gotten much more done in advance than the rest of the group. She was hugging her prep team and sending them off with paper bags full of her cookbook and DVDs.

Mayuri had done something odd with his meat course but had a few prepped items that looked recognizable on his station tables. His prep team had fled early on.

Byakuya had floated around half threatening and half romancing his team during the prep period. Gin shook his head in disbelief. As the group was leaving, two members of the Kuchiki prep team had even bowed and lifted his hand to their forehead in a kowtow. How pathetic.

With his team, he had deflected an ask for a job at Shinso and both women on the team offering their cell numbers with hearts in their eyes. For fuck’s sake, he had a black eye and was trying to win a cooking competition. He wasn’t looking for a date. At the moment anyway.

One of them he had been thinking about asking if she wanted to try doing some desserts for the restaurant during a Winterlicious event but he really didn’t want the headache at the moment. Maybe he could have Rangiku make the approach. She mostly handled his staffing and he could avoid the awkwardness.

Regardless, now the team was gone. Leaving him alone with his thoughts and a huge amount of food.

The ten hour preparation time was ticking by fast. The chefs were allowed to wear headphones as long as they weren’t doing any food cameo videos, setup shots, interviews or what Renji was calling ‘anxiety tape’ for the production drama.

Gin had his phone on loud. Blasting Arctic Monkeys in his earbuds for the last 45 minutes he was starting to get into the groove. With only the four of them left in the room with camera people he couldn’t fuck with Retsu’s prep now that the crowd in the studio kitchen had disappeared.

A break for the chefs was coming up and he was looking forward to a smoke. Right now he was prepping the lemon grass he was going to tie around his Beijing pea flour cakes. He had a massive pile of the green strips on the counter top.

Gin looked up startled. Kira was standing silent at his elbow, his hand on Gin’s forearm. Gin pulled out an earbud and wiped his hands on his apron. “Kira. Do you need me for a food shot or interview piece or something?”

Kira lowered his eyes. “I just wanted to say hello.”

Gin looked at him. “Really? You’ve had my number for a while. This really a good time?” Gin looked at him more closely. Kira looked paler than normal but just as handsome. He, as always, was impeccably dressed in an oddly cut angled suit in some kind of soft dark material. His blonde hair was like a curtain.

Gin asked him, “You need to talk? You want me to take the next break together with you? I need a smoke anyway.”

Kira said a bit hesitatingly, “Actually I wanted to ask you something.”

Gin looked at him, not stopping his work, “You know that you can’t touch me. I can’t touch you. Izuru, we can’t talk about food, the competition or my menu. Right? Did you check with Hanatarou about this? I am not getting sent home over you, especially if this coffee break fucks everything up and someone complains.”

Kira nodded. “Yes I checked. We’re okay. I won’t do any of those things. I don’t want you to be disqualified. I protect the ones I care about in my life.”

Gin snorted, “In your life? I haven’t seen you lately. I’m barely seeing you now and I’ve been here for 16 fucking hours a day during this competition.”

Kira nodded with his head down, “I’ll meet you outside then. I can bring you a coffee. Yes?”

Gin nodded and then ignored him. Kira melted out of his frame as he concentrated again on the food.

His concentration was broken again with Hanatarou called the time for the chefs to begin to prepare for the short break. Gin finished off his lemon grass ties, covered them with a damp cloth and walked over to the fridge to leave them on his designated shelving.

He crossed paths with Byakuya in the fridge, the Kuchiki leaned in with a rustle of fabric and from behind the jet black curtain of hair, said softly “After the break I’ll be dealing with Mayuri. You are dealing with Retsu, yes?” Gin nodded, his own bangs in front of his face, not making eye contact with Byakuya.

He slid the grass next to the stack of trays on the racks. His perfect Beijing pea flour cakes looked good. He had brought a little mold with him when he decided to make them. They just needed the lemon grass tied on. He was sure no one in NYC had seen the pastries before unless their grandma was making them.

He thought Renji would like them. He wasn’t sure about Soi-Fon. She looked like she didn’t really enjoy food. And the guests he was cooking for were a complete wild card. The bride, Shimizu Kiyoko, was the manager of a popular volleyball team. He knew nothing about her.

He sighed, shit. He didn’t really know why he had agreed to this screwing around with Unohana’s prep. He actually just wanted to cook. He knew his food was good.

Gin wasn’t sure that he had done enough to derail Retsu with her extensive catering experience. She would have seen every horror story already with her paying customers during her career. Every caterer he knew had wild stories of terrible situations during jobs.

He idly wondered how far the Kuchiki wanted to go. Hiding her equipment was one thing, but could he even threaten her enough to get her to quit. The contest would be cancelled at that point. They wouldn’t have enough contestants to complete it according to the rules.

Why was the Kuchiki so intent of cheating? Gin came to the conclusion today that Byakuya couldn’t actually cook by himself without assistance from his fawning assistants. The Kuchiki looked like he just gave really good orders. What a fraud. High concept guy. Gin had seen it before. In fact it was exactly the same shit as Mayuri, just in a nicer looking package. Both the food and the chef.

Gin smiled to himself and tried not to laugh. He pulled himself together, turned and closed the door of the walk in leaving Byakuya in front of his shelving with a pensive look on his face. He needed to catch up with Kira right now. That was a small high point to this stupid shit today.

+++++++

Gin exhaled a cloud of smoke. He squinted down at Kira who was holding two coffee cups. “What did you get?”

“Flat white, I need the extra coffee. Not so much milk.” Kira was wearing thin grey gloves with his deep black overcoat. Gin thought it was cashmere. He’d try not to pat it to find out.

“What a fucking hipster you are. I’ll totally take it though.” Gin held out a hand for the coffee. “So Izuru, you are looking pale these days. I thought you had it all figured out with the restaurant reviewing. The Times is a good employer no?”

“I was worried about you. Your eye looks painful.”

“I slipped in the shower. It’s all fine.” He waved his hands to dismiss the topic. They were standing outside the studio so Gin could smoke. Gin had scanned the street looking for a black town car or that ancient creep on the ebike. No sign of any obvious eyes on him.

Kira sipped his coffee. “I’ve missed you.” He said in his sad low voice.

Gin looked at Kira. Kira looked down at his cup.

“Hey look at me man. What is that supposed to mean? You broke up with me! Now you dump this shit on me during a competition you are judging? You are fucking nuts.”

Kira said softly, “I’ve been writing haiku again. I’m not sure I want to continue with the restaurant reviewing. I think I’m too recognizable.”

“Izuru. You are so fucking melodramatic.” Gin sipped his coffee. “These flat whites aren't as stupid as I thought. Less milk, more coffee. Got to like that.” He smoked and looked steadily at Kira. “You serious about quitting the paper?”

Kira still wouldn’t meet his eye. Gin continued, “I heard from Rangiku that you guys have spent a couple of lost weekends together. Drinking to my ill health. If that’s really true then why are you sniffing around for a date now? I’m a little busy this week anyway.”

Kira just stood there holding onto his coffee, eyes down.

“Come on Kira, you know I’ll always consider an invitation from you. Your apartment is much much nicer than mine. Plus you get better service in restaurants. Just call me sometime.”

Kira pulled up his right jacket sleeve to check his watch, on a thick chain band of open links. Subtle but expensive looking. “Can I? I’d like to call you.” he asked Gin.

“Just don’t make me lose this competition and the answer is always yes.” Gin took a drag on his smoke.

“Cook well and then I can vote for you. You can always walk away from the contest. There isn’t anything shameful in that.” Kira toyed with his cup.

“You know me right? I’m not going anywhere. Thanks for the coffee. My food’s fantastic. I’ll win.” Gin flicked his cigarette in the street. They both watched it arc into the gutter. Gin held up his phone with the smashed glass. “I have your number. If I call you will you answer?”

Kira cleared his throat. “You know, I met Rangiku those few times to try and find out what was happening with you. Now I see you here, looking worse for wear. I think he has you hypnotized.” Kira sounded concerned.

Gin laughed, that short barking sound, “He’s paying for Shinso to function. No magic spells required. Just cash. If you’re referring to Aizen that is. So lighten up mopey.”

Kira finally looked up at him. Gin held his gaze and smiled widely. “Let’s go back in. I have more cooking to do. I’m sure you have stuff to do too Mr. Judge. After you.”

+++++++

Renji had cruised by his station after the break and had Gin talk about his menu and the struggle of having no team to assist for the interviews. Gin had worked through the majority of his prep. Buns sliced. Thinly sliced meat in the onion sauce ready for plating in the buns. Salad in the walk in just needed to be in the cups. Dessert was plated already. He was frying up the vegetables to put into the paper cones his team had made earlier for him. Everything was moving along nicely.

Suddenly there was an echoing ringing crash in the studio kitchen he could hear even with his earbuds in, followed by a woman screaming. He looked over to where everyone was staring in shock at Mayuri and Byakuya.

It looked like there had been some kind of collision in the kitchen. Mayuri was standing between the stations with an angry look on his face. He was clutching his arm. Blood was steadily seeping down Mayuri’s sleeve and was dripping onto the floor.

Byakuya had been pushed down by a counter and was currently being fussed over by two production assistants. He rather theatrically had a bag of ice on his forehead.

It looked like Byakuya had actually stabbed Mayuri pretty seriously in the arm with a large chef’s knife. Wild. The knife was on the floor in the puddle of blood next to a dropped rice paddle.

Retsu was pale but had immediately offered surprisingly effective first aid to both men. It looked like Mayuri would only be momentarily sidelined but not out of the competition.

Hanatarou was losing the discussion he was trying to have with the injured Mayuri. Mayuri had actually refused to stop cooking. Gin saw Byakuya had a bruise on his forehead but a very satisfied look on his face. He wondered how Byakuya had arranged the collision so successfully. He’d need to watch his back around the Kuchiki.

Gin stood behind his station and furtively called 911. He knew from his own experience with the mad scientist that Mayuri wouldn’t stop cooking unless the cops came and that wasn’t actually in Bayakuya’s plan as far as he knew.

The production team was having kittens. Renji was sitting with one of Byakuya’s hands in his and patting him gently on the back, tattooed eyebrows knit with concern.To look at Renji you'd think Kuchiki was the one who was seriously injured. Hanatarou was now on the phone just quietly losing his shit with someone.

Gin had used Byakuya’s violent distraction to subtly raise the temperature on the oven as Unohana’s pork shoulder was braising.

++++++

Gin couldn’t care less about Retsu at the moment. She still had a brave face on even with the strange setbacks that had occurred during her prep time. She was churning out pans, plates and trays like a machine for her 75 guests. Her skills and experience had certainly overcome whatever lame sabotage attempt Gin had tried.

The studio kitchen was filled with food ready to go out to the wedding guests who apparently were next door. Each chef had a different flower on the plates and trays they would use to send out their dishes to the guests. Retsu’s plates had a bellflower on them. His own plates had a marigold.

He wondered what Mayuri had on his plates. Gin thought it was a thistle or something equally unappetizing and aggressively inedible. The guests would not know whose food they were eating until they had cleared their plates. Then the guests would rate each dish adding to the chef’s overall totals.

Now Gin was finalizing his last task ladling soy sauce over his hot almonds for the appetizer course of sporty stadium snacks. They were in the home stretch. God this menu was fucking irritating even if he had planned it himself. He hated weddings. He slid the last pan of almonds back into the low heat oven for another twenty minutes. And looked out around the studio kitchen.

Earlier in the day, after the collision, Mayuri had refused to leave the studio with the ambulance. Gin thought he may have even slid off to the bathroom and stitched his arm up himself. Mayuri had refused any further treatment so he was still here cooking up glowing slime in his strange glassware. Gin pitied the 75 guests who had to try his dishes. The ambulance crew probably should have stuck around.

Gin stood still in front of his oven doors. A green tray on the stainless steel countertop caught his eye. Green. That was what had caught his eye the day before on Mayuri’s table of junk equipment. Green pellets. Rat poison.

Everything seemed to run together. He looked over to a small group standing a couple of stations away from him. Byakuya, Retsu and Mayuri were standing together. Camera on, with a sound guy a little bit behind them, capturing the chefs discussing something. Probably taping an ‘anxiety moment’ for Renji.  They were all standing at Mayuri’s station, where he was offering some concoction in a small glass dish to the two other chefs. Small glass dish. Green.

Gin threw his oven mitts down and shouted, “Kuchiki. Don’t eat that shit!” Gin ran toward them as Byakuya picked up a spoon to sample something in a glass dish while a smug looking Mayuri stood nearby holding a ladle in one hand, his arms crossed in front of him.

Renji popped up across the room where he had been looking at video, coordinating the cameras with Hanatarou. Gin could see him frowning and starting to move towards the group. Everyone else seemed frozen.

Retsu had already put her spoon down on the counter, an odd look on her face, she raised shaking hands to her face and turned slowly to look at Mayuri eyes widening. Then she collapsed completely, blood streaming from her nose down her pale face and throat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gin's menu sounds quite nice.
> 
> Tamari almonds  
> Fried zucchini and sweet potato fries in a paper cone  
> Pork bifana sandwich wrapped in foil  
> Rice salad served in a solo cup  
> Beijing pea flour cake with persimmon sherbet
> 
> Served with Brooklyn Brewery Lager


	6. Extra - Hot Pot

Gin set the white box down on the table with a thump. Renji looked  up from his phone with an irritated look on his face. Gin thumped the full plastic shopping bags on the table with his other hand. Renji put his phone down and leaned back in his chair. "What is this shit exactly?"

Gin smiled, eyes thinned and narrowed. "Your boyfriend made you nabe maybe once or twice?" He paused and fluttered his hands over the stuff on the table. "This ain't it."

Renji stuck his hand in the bag closest to him, he pulled out fish balls, head on shrimp in a damp cardboard package, screamingly red plastic packets of something covered in yellow Chinese writing. Beans. Broccoli. "Whatever. Why are you cooking this stuff? You practicing for the last round?" He sat back in his chair. "Sorry, my mind was on other things."

"Like how you almost killed Retsu? Yeah, you still think you're going to get a network to pick you up? I thought you of all people might like something nice to eat. Kuchiki-hime would eat this never. You'll have to eat it with me if you want it." Gin started to unpack the white box, pulling a chrome pot and stand out of the styrofoam and finding the electrical plug.

Renji handed him the lid from the box and then clutched the white box to his chest. "God. Who thought that you fucking chefs would be so murderous. I just wanted to get in on the action. I love tv." 

Gin snorted, Renji looked so serious. "You look so serious. Lighten up. Kuchiki-hime isn't dead. Mayuri is under house arrest until his arraignment. You have loads of attention on your crap tv show."

Renji moped, "Ichimaru, you didn't think it was crap when you were making the food for it. You were totally serious about it. Haven't you seen the finished episodes yet? You looked like a winner. I liked where it was going. I thought we could have edited it into something compelling-"

Gin laughed, "Moving right along sucker, help me lay out the stuff for the hotpot." He set out the little baskets and pairs of long chopsticks.

Renji's attention shifted as he pulled a tray of thinly sliced meat out of the plastic bag, "Lamb! I love this kind of meat."

Gin looked over and corrected him, "That's the beef. The lamb is in there somewhere. The beef is rolled up in this kind of hot pot."

Renji laid out the vegetables on the table as Gin pulled a cutting board and a wickedly sharp knife out of somewhere.

"And what are we to do with these?" Renji had a fistful of long thin green beans, "These things have to be a metre long!"

"Cut them up obviously." Gin was prepping the ingredients for the soup and laying the vegetables out on plates. He stopped to fish something out of a pile. "Pick a broth please. How hot do you want? I was going to make you Cantonese Congee hot pot but I changed my mind." Gin tossed a couple of the garish broth packets at him.

Renji picked up the pile of packages and dealt them one by one like cards on the table. "Can you read this?" He waved one with a cartoon sheep on it at Gin.

"Not really but it says 'Huo Guo' there. That's a good kind. Sichuan. Spicy. Here's the water to put into the pot. Can you?" Gin waved his knife at the thermos.

"I guess this part plugs in here, okay I see." Renji scrambled around to find the wall plug in the conference room. Gin checked out that ass and sighed.

"What?" Renji popped back up from the floor.

"Nothing. Get the broth started or we'll be here all night."

"I have nowhere else to be today." Renji sounded hurt. "I'm spending some time with you." He ripped open the package and stared at the radioactively red goo. "Well it smells spicy..." He trailed off.

Gin pointed with the knife, "In the pot. Of course you picked the spiciest one. Put it in the pot then add the water." He handed Renji a pair of wooden chopsticks. "And use these to stir."

"What setting does the pot go on?" Renji was fiddling with the dial. He had dumped the evil looking goo from the packet into the pot.

"The highest. Add the water before you turn it on. These pots heat up fast. Stir it up a bit and then put the lid on." Gin turned back to his chopping. He had moved into the mushroom section of the table.

Renji held the lid in front of him as a shield, "Is the pot supposed to be making those weird noises?"

"Yes. Put the lid on." Gin stopped and turned back to him. "You may want to drink some juice or something before you start to balance the spices. That,-" He pointed with the knife blade at the bubbling red broth, "- is very spicy."

Renji laughed. “I love spicy. I eat all sorts of spicy stuff.”

Gin just looked at him and then went back to chopping. Renji poked at the bubbling hot pot broth with his chopsticks reaching out a long arm from his chair.

Standing next to the table, Gin finally stopped chopping and surveyed the small mountain of vegetables, meat and seafood on the trays in front of them. He pushed the knife down on the board and then wiped his hands on a cloth.

 “I’m going to wash my hands in the bathroom. It’s down the hall?”

Renji pointed with the red stained chopsticks at the meeting room door, “Down the hall. Do I need to do anything special here?”

Gin peered at the broth. “Nope. You can put some of the bigger vegetables in the bottom on this side.” He picked up some green vegetable on a stalk in both hands and dropped the handful into one side of the divided pot. “This can be the vegetable side. The other can be meat.” The green vegetable sank slowly into the bubbling red broth. “You can start the larger shrimp and fish balls on that meat side. Save the beef and lamb for later.” Renji sighed happily, “Meat!” behind him as he headed down the dark production office hallway.

Gin found the bathroom but couldn’t get the light switch to turn on. He guessed that because they were here afterhours maybe the lights were off in the building. There was a small frosted window at the back that offered enough light for him to see the sink at least. He washed his hands methodically in too cold water. He stared into the darkened mirror.

He couldn’t stop himself from saying low under his breath. ‘Daruma doll fell down. Daruma doll fell down. Daruma doll fell down.” Then he laughed out loud.

Standing in the gloom, he pulled out his phone and checked the calls he had missed while he had his phone on do not disturb. He swiped down to the middle of the list. Byakuya Kuchiki. Renji must have given him his phone number. He’d ignore that for now. No need to rush to a new prison. He wanted to talk to Renji first before he took on the prince.

Then Gin checked the other missed calls. Rangiku. Glasses. Glasses. Glasses. Damn. Aizen. The daruma doll had caught him after all.

He looked at his reflection in the mirror again. This time he was lit by the light of his phone. Pale hair, pale face. Sad expression. Shit he was pathetic.

His finger hesitated over the contact button for Aizen. Now or never. He pressed it. He held the phone up to his ear listening to it ringing.

He stuttered when the phone was answered, “Aizen? Is Aizen Sousuke available?”

“Okay. Sure. Can you let him know that I did get his messages?” He looked back at the mirror. “Sure. Of course. I’m so sorry.” He looked at his shoes. “I am very sorry. Of course. Ichimaru. Please let him know that Ichimaru called. Yes. Ichimaru. I-c-h-.Yes. Thank you.”

He held his phone in his hand looking at the screen even after the call had ended. That was just as humiliating as always. That fucker, having someone else answer his personal number. And that guy on the other end had known who he was. Gin wondered why Aizen wanted to keep him around at all. Couldn’t be for the horrible sex. Must be for the punching bag.

Gin put his phone in his pocket and smoothed down the front of his shirt as his eyes adjusted to the darkness again. He touched his jawline, thinking of a low voice in his ear, strong arms holding him, and then he thought of Aizen pulling his hair so tightly until he couldn’t speak.

He turned away from the mirror. Romance. Screw that.

When Gin left the bathroom he could smell the broth wafting down the hallway filling the air with spicy fragrance. He walked into the conference room and found Renji stuffing beans into his mouth. “Those even cooked Renj? I wasn’t gone that long.”

Renji hooked a shrimp with a chopstick, “You think this is done yet?”

“Leave it alone until the fish balls start floating.”

“Bya-kun would love this, all these vegetables.” Renji finished chewing and started to more seriously dig around in the pot broth.

“Tsk, no. You know that Kuchiki would hate this. Communal eating from the same pot? Mixing seafood and meat in the same broth? Broth from a package? He’d hate it. Completely.” Gin took his own chopsticks and fished out a thin strip of steaming meat.

He smiled as he chewed. “Actually Kuchiki delicately nibbling a fish ball made of unknown ingredients that had been cooked in a packet of powder and goop broth would be totally something to see. Does he ever eat anything processed?”

Renji shook his head as he slurped and smiled with his mouth full of shrimp. He had a pile of shrimp shells on the table in front of him and was now sucking on his chopsticks. He had a little wire basket in his other hand ready for another foray into the pot.

Gin said, “Don’t laugh! I don’t want to give you first aid when you choke. Don’t eat all the shrimp before we get started. Shit, I forgot to shred the cabbage.”

Renji asked quietly, "So Gin, where is your boyfriend exactly?"

Gin stopped slicing the Chinese cabbage with the knife a fraction of a centimetre away from his fingertips. He didn't lift his head, but replied, "Fuck off."

Renji said earnestly, 'I thought you looked better lately. Like maybe you hadn't seen him recently. I had heard he got audited and I thought the RICO people might have been helpful to get rid of him."

Gin tossed the knife down and tilted his head looking at Renji. "And you thought that he was gone why exactly? Because I still have two working eyes? Because I don't have any burn marks on my face? Because his boys aren't beating me in front of you?"

Renji looked hopeful.

"Nothing changed. He’s rich. He won’t go anywhere." Gin shoved one of his sleeves up at the wrist. An ugly grey yellow purpled bruise showed livid on his pale skin just above his skinny wrist. Renji could see individual finger marks.

Gin shook down his sleeve and turned back to the table. "I owe him too much for the restaurant. He was mad about the tv show. I didn't launder enough cash for him in the last quarter. The sky was blue. Who knows why."

Renji looked at Gin. "So what are you going to do then?"

Gin forced back that sick feeling and looked instead at the bubbling broth in the divided silver pot on the table. "I'm going to make a fucking great Chong Qing Hotpot and you are going to eat it with me while we talk about that plan of yours and Kuchiki-hime.”


End file.
